You’ll see my heart breakin’
Heartbreak, betrayal, infidelity, loneliness.
These are the ingredients of great lyrics.
I had this realization as I was driving home this evening blasting, I’m the Only One by Melissa Etheridge.
I pounded my fist on the steering wheel and belted out, gloriously off-key:
But I’m the only one who’ll walk across the fire for you
I’m the only one who’ll drown in my desire for you
Ah! I get it. And It freaking sucks.
You know who else got it? Madonna.
Don’t try to run, I can keep up with you
Nothing can stop me from trying, you’ve got to
open your heart to me, baby
I get it.
It’s all in the crazy – brain juice, you just can’t fuck with the brain juice.
For those of you who are not following me on this one, take, for example, this guy. Recently, he flirted with me – mildly. I flirted back – in my own special way: a blend of attempted wit and charm (it never really works). Then, I went home and got to thinking. And that is when the crazy took over.
I imagined how our flirtation might turn into a little something more.
I imagined how that something more could escalate. And how I’d have to put on the breaks, because, well, I’m the kinda girl that always puts on the breaks with this kinda guy.
Then, I imagined how he’d start to break down my boundaries.
I imagined trips apple picking and through corn mazes and to remote ski lodges in Vermont.
I imagined cuddling on the sofa with a movie and a bottle of wine.
I imagined our first big fight – the one where I cry and he feels like a total dirtbag.
I imagined forgiving him.
I imagined having to say goodbye and him begging me not to go.
I imagined falling in love with him and coming back.
I imagined realizing how big of a mistake that would be!
Then, I imagined the inevitable break up.
Right after I’d taken us through the pains of breaking up after what would be eight wonderful (emotionally draining) months together, I realized I was getting a little carried away. I reigned my imagination back in.
I decided to wait and see if our flirtation turned into more.
After a few days of that, I got bored. I decided to go back to imagining him. The way he would sweep me up and kiss me, a romantic getaway, passionate vase-throwing arguments…
I stalked him on Facebook. He is just as cute in his profile picture as he is inside my brain. I felt this primal need to get his attention. Like, my inner cave-woman urges were chanting, SOMETHING HAS TO HAPPEN WITH THIS GUY. And we all know what SOMETHING is.
Facebook was a fail. I couldn’t believe we didn’t have a single friend in common. There was no one on whose wall I could comment so my name showed up in his news feed. I looked at his list of friends, thinking maybe there was someone I knew – some “in” to his online social circle. None. Then, I realized what I was doing and ex’d out of Facebook. It was like I was outside of my own body watching myself. The crazy had completely taken over. I.was.helpless.
Later, while I was singing in almost-harmony with Melissa Etheridge, I flashed through various scenes of my imaginary relationship with this very real guy, reliving some of the highlights I’d previously imagined and manifesting several new dramatic scenes.
Obviously, he has no clue what he’s in for.
I’m awesome in love. I’m crazy. But I’ll walk across burning coals when I’m in love. I’m the kind of crazy who burns like kerosene in love. There is yelling. Crying. Screaming. Forgetting about stuff in the oven.
I’m the hot-and-cold commitment-phobe who will ask you to move in and then change the locks when you run home to grab your toothbrush. I’m wishy washy. I’m a huge scaredy cat. But that’s when I’m out of love. And I’m only like that because I know when I’m in love – well, when I’m in love, I am so crazy in love. I just can’t let myself fall in love too easily.
When I’m in love, I’m a bit of an unstoppable force. I’m like a hurricane of love. My love knocks down power lines and crashes over mountains. I’d be the crazy girl willing to cut her own heart out with a spoon if her lover needed a transplant. When I love, I love so much, it doesn’t make any sense. It’s actually pretty painful for everyone involved.
It takes me awhile to get there – I have to melt off the layers of preliminary crazy first. And I haven’t been there that many times in my life (twice). But, when I’m in love, I’d dare Venus in all of her glory to go head to head with me. I’d teach that bitch a lesson or two about passion.
Yeah, this guy has no clue what he’s in for. I don’t plan on falling in love with him. Still….what’s the worst that could happen? We take a dive into crazy and forget to come up for air?